i.
I’m gazing at the sky from home
The truth is a missile
Headed for the basement
Under the basement
Where heroes garnish soup
Cans not prayer candles
Collections of used condom
Wrappers on a receipt spike

The line between plan
And no plan is the stone
That clings to you
An architect’s vision
Before it is thrown
From the fire escape

ii.
Look, as a white man with nice socks
You have a leg up in this business
I dreamt I was at the Frick and drinking
Water continuously. Delicious
And it’s true, I haven’t been trained
In anything; there wasn’t much
Scientific discovery in the Middle Ages
Watching bats screech and scry
Overhead, I admire your reflexes
Should we toss the mutual object?
Let’s go through my stuff together
On the floor of our last apartment
My heart, I mean, broken neatly
Our life, I mean, is an upward gesture

Erika Kielsgard lives in Brooklyn, NY. She received her MFA from Brooklyn College, where she teaches English literature and creative writing. Her poems have found generous homes in Bone Bouquet, Cordella Magazine, The Penn Review, and others.